The first time I saw him, I should have known better. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes, a way Nathaniel looked at me—like I was a trophy waiting to be claimed. He was the hunter, and I, the foolish prey, was desperate enough to believe his snare was a loving embrace. I let him take my heart, not realizing he would carve his name into it like a hunter marking his prize. Now, the singular, crushing question remains: was it ever real?
I met him on a rainy autumn night, the air in the dimly lit club thick with smoke and suggestions. He was leaning against the bar, a cigarette dangling, his lips curled in a smirk that promised everything thrilling and nothing safe. "Little lost lamb," he murmured when I stumbled into his space. Every fiber of my intuition screamed a warning, but I didn't listen. I let him pull me under, drowning in the intoxicating current of his attention.
Nathaniel was every danger my mother had warned against—reckless, charming, and concealing something infinitely dark. He whispered sweet nothings, his hands tracing patterns of possession across my skin. Love with him wasn't soft; it was bruises hidden beneath lace, apologies wrapped in feverish kisses, and devotion tainted with the bitter poison of manipulation. "You belong to me, Lena," he commanded, his fingers tightening around my wrist. "No one else will ever love you the way I do." And for a long, terrible while, I believed him.
The cracks began the first time I caught him with another woman. I twisted reality to protect myself. The second time, the delusion was too flimsy. "You're being paranoid, Lena," he laughed, cupping my face with practiced tenderness. My traitorous head always nodded, confusing ownership for commitment.
The final shattering came via a text message, a single, devastating sentence from a woman I didn't know: He was never yours alone. I confronted him, my voice shaking with cold, clear fury. "Tell me the truth. Was it all a lie?" He didn't even grant me the dignity of shame. He considered me with bored contempt. "You were convenient," he said. Those three words sliced through me like a blade. Convenient. An accessory to be discarded.
Leaving him was supposed to set me free, but the ghost of Nathaniel lingered. I saw him everywhere, in the scent of his cologne clinging to my pillows. Yet, the broken girl was gone. I had learned the agonizing truth: I was more than what he had reduced me to. I had learned how to take it back.
They say revenge is a dish best served cold, but I wanted mine to burn. Nathaniel, in his arrogance, thought he had won. I meticulously planned my reckoning, preparing to dismantle the empire of lies he had built. I was standing on the precipice of delivering the final, crushing blow, my heart finally cold and resolved, when the universe delivered a catastrophic twist.
I wasn't the only one he had wronged.
Just as I prepared to step out of the shadows, ready to destroy him, a frantic, desperate call came through. It wasn't the woman I expected. It was the police.
"Miss Lena, you need to get down here now. It's Nathaniel. He's been found. And it looks like someone beat you to revenge."
The line went dead, leaving me paralyzed on my doorstep, the rain suddenly feeling like a thousand accusations. My meticulously planned justice was irrelevant. My enemy was gone, taken by an unknown hand, and in that moment, the terrifying realization hit: I was now the prime suspect.